


Deteriorating

by starrylitme



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Zero, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Neurological Disorders, Roughness, SHSL Rare Pair Week, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been at this long enough.  He knows—there was always that part of him muttering about how hopeless the situation really was, that even if he made a breakthrough, it’d be unrealistic for such to be made in the time frame where it mattered. But that same part knew he couldn’t just let all his efforts slip through his fingers—just let time drift by without bothering to fight the currents.</p><p>"What are you going to do at that point where it's decayed so much that you're the one who no longer recognizes me as someone you've cared for since childhood? Are you going to say that doesn't matter as long as my heart's still beating, Matsuda-kun?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deteriorating

**Author's Note:**

> MatsuKoma doesn't exist in fic form yet, so I'm going to write it for the last day of SHSL Rare Pair Week!
> 
> It seemed like a good idea at the time??
> 
> This is kind of an AU where Matsuda and Komaeda were childhood friends to lovers and it's only a little better than Ryoko from dr0. Also this was really weird writing because Matsuda is a bit weird for me in general.

It was the rainy weather that irritated him the most, his hands clenching the wheel until his knuckles were bone white, Nagito silent beside him, lying back and staring, as if transfixed, at the rain being swiped away by the window wipers.

“I’m...fortunate at least...” The mutter didn’t surprise him, nor the asinine words. All the same he scowled, and Nagito simply giggled, shuffling his feet. “At least you’re here, right...? Matsuda-kun?”

He slammed his hand into the horn, the blaring sound making the other flinch before he tentatively reached out, brushing his fingers against his hand, and Matsuda didn’t brush that touch off, just sighing heavily. He didn’t have to look at Nagito to know he was smiling, however sad it might have been—he had known Nagito for so long, so very, very long.

Though when he had been younger, he was so much more mercifully quieter, more skittish like a rabbit. So clingy back then too, looking up with those wide, cottony green eyes—those haven’t changed but a lot of other things have.

His eyes flickered to the other, however briefly it may have been since he needed to look at the road— _to that pale face, that sad smile, the white hair framing his face_ —and he turned back before he could see that expression change, even if it was a little.

“Matsuda-kun...?”

“I suspected it.” His voice was low, quiet. “I know how you are—so I notice when things start changing, and I noticed...”

“I know.” Nagito responds, and that laugh returns in his voice. It doesn’t sound genuine—he knows there’s nothing Komaeda finds about this situation amusing. As morbid of that godforsaken sense of humor of his could be sometimes, now... “I know how Matsuda-kun is after all.”

“Then you’re saying you know how I feel about this?”

“I...wouldn’t go that far...”

“Don’t bullshit me at a time like this, Komaeda Nagito.”

“Matsuda-kun, you know me. Isn’t that what you said?” Matsuda could have snapped at him— _if they were home, he certainly would, they’d be home soon, he could wait then however aggravating it’d be_ —but then Nagito went on, lightly, “That said, I shouldn’t have called you. But that would have made you angrier, and I...might have gotten a little selfish, Matsuda-kun.”

“Nagito.”

He noticed the other perk up, turning to him with that wide-eyed curious gaze, and he just swallowed.

“Shut up until we get home.”

He knew then, that Nagito must have smiled.

* * *

Somehow from the beginning, he had known Komaeda Nagito would prove to be a handful. Even back when he was younger, as that reserved little thing, Matsuda had known, especially on that one day at that one place where he was just stuck bandaging this quietly sniffling kid who somehow ended up dirtied with mud and knees caked with red while clutching a bill for a thousand yen tightly in his reedy fingers, all while the adults were away.

Then, he could just badger Nagito into getting him a snack with that money he picked up for his troubles—but there’s really no point in that when Nagito would have gotten him such without needing to be asked in the first place.

Nagito had clung to him then, gripping his hand tight while their heads both hung low at funerals, clutching him tighter in his sleep, always curling close and sniffling at times while Matsuda absentmindedly stroked soft brown hair. Even as they had gotten a little bit older while still staying a little too young...

“Aah, Matsuda-kun’s angry again, isn’t he?”

“I’m _annoyed_ —this is the fifth time this week, Nagito. Can’t you go one day without being a careless, danger-prone idiot? Or are you just too stupid to _function properly_ for that long?” He had been seething, wrapping the bandages around and pinning them appropriately before he letting out a groan, moving his attention to the rather gruesome bruise planted on the other’s cheek. It stood out so nastily, especially back then against the pallor of his skin, all that purpling and greening. Even then, Nagito had felt too fragile, too breakable, even as Matsuda scolded him multiple times to just _take it easy_ —

“Things just happen,” Nagito had tittered, however unsmilingly it had actually been and twiddling his fingers. “I might be cursed like the others said after all. Matsuda-kun thinks it’s strange too, right? So many strange things happen around me and I’m always on edge, always worrying—”

Even if Matsuda squeezed his shoulder then, he kept going on, “I was thinking—how about we stop being friends? For your own safe—”

“Stop.” Matsuda reached out, and yanked at his cheeks, making him yelp, making him cry out, his own voice growing tighter and tighter, “Stop _talking_ like that, stupid. I’m not going anywhere because of some stupid paranoia of yours. You _know_ that right? I’m not—I’m _never_ going to leave you...”

“U- _Uugh_ , Matsuda-kun, that hurts—”

“Then don’t say things like that!” he shouted, and Nagito flinched, tears stinging his eyes and giving him this wide-eyed watery doe-like stare. Matsuda released him, hands dropping to his sides along with his gaze, unable to even look at the other anymore while he was surely rubbing his abused cheeks still with that pained expression. He went on, not even really thinking anymore. “You know I don’t have anyone else, right? You know that—you **_know_** —seriously Nagito...”

“I’m sorry, Matsuda-kun,” Nagito cut him off quickly, taking his hands, urging him to meet those shimmering gray-green eyes and that puffed out lower lip as he frowned deeply, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to upset you! I just... I was just saying that...”

“Stop.” Matsuda repeated and he did, shutting his mouth and shamefully averting his gaze. With one heavy sigh, he yanked the other close, so that Nagito could bury his face in his shoulder, and shake a bit as he shushed him, and Matsuda kept saying that, “You shouldn’t talk like that anymore. I’m not leaving. I’m never going to leave you alone...”

“You should, Matsuda-kun...” Barely whispered, all the same he scowled.

“Just shut up, Nagito.”

In the very least, Nagito had nodded against him and remained silent, but that foreboding feeling remained heavy in the air, looming in the back of his mind especially with that morbid tone of Nagito’s voice and there was little Matsuda could do then except hold the other closer.

* * *

Now, Nagito doesn’t cry when he pinches his cheeks and scolds him, only keeps that sad smile and sighs as he pecks his forehead, stroking his thumbs over the curves of those reddened cheeks, and sweetly pressing back when Matsuda kisses him lightly on the mouth. But then again, he’s gotten so much sickening softer over the years—it probably doesn’t hurt nowadays, hence Nagito being able to smile it off so easily.

“Matsuda-kun,” Again, again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Don’t.” Matsuda cuts him off with another kiss, fingers threading through his hair tenderly before pulling him into a tight hold, shaking even as Nagito’s arms wrap around him in return. He can’t say anything, almost doesn’t want to—and Nagito, as stupid as he may be at times, understands that much. He does register, however vaguely, those thin fingers digging into his back, and the other huffing.

“This isn’t becoming of the Matsuda-kun I love at all.”

“Just be quiet.” He snaps, shaking his head, and for a long, long time afterwards, the other is. And he doesn’t have to pick up on the atmosphere to know the other’s mood. He knows the other too well at this point and in knowing him, _well_ , he needs to steel himself then and there.

* * *

When they had been younger there was this point where they were more distant. Matsuda had been studying furiously, without rest, and though Nagito just as easily could have drifted far, far away in those times, he did stay close every now and then, straightening the untidy texts of books he set out, countless pages dog-eared and bookmarked with several of the passages highlighted.

“Don’t push yourself,” he giggled. “You’ve been at this for a while, Matsuda-kun, but...”

Matsuda hadn’t even raise his gaze to quickly glare at him, keeping his attention on the text in he was flipping through with one hand, the notes he was scribbling down with the other. Reading through meticulously and only vaguely registering that the other kept on talking.

Phrases like ‘as expected’ and words like ‘really’ and ‘still’, and he kept on writing even as that buzzing continued. It faded out at some point, and by the time he was finished with that text and looked back up, Nagito had his face buried in his folded arms, fast asleep.

 _Ridiculous_ , but it wouldn’t hurt to take a break to put a blanket around him so that the idiot didn’t freeze.

Nagito twitched though as his fingers brushed against those shoulders, a soft sigh escaping his lips followed by a soft murmur of, “Matsuda-kun...”

He shivered a bit as Matsuda ruffled his hair blankly. He had remembered it being so much darker. But had it always been this silky? Nagito inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering open, looking up at him and giving that adoring smile.

“Matsuda-kun, _I love you_ —”

* * *

He knows how the inside of Nagito’s head works, knows almost intimately the tinkering of his thoughts and had even seen it for himself, had kissed the scars left behind afterward. His sleep is minimal, borderline non-existent when looking them over, and tiredly he finds himself hating the sterile smell obscuring the previously looming stench of blood and the body from what could have only been moments ago.

There’s a kind of despicable intimacy in all of this, and even more disgustingly, he suspects Nagito might appreciate it, given how he grins like the idiot he is when he’s awake and it’s all over for the moment. Others murmur— _he knows, he **hears** them when they think he can’t, and he knows Nagito notices as well, given his quiet perceptiveness behind his polite personable persona_—and perhaps it’s admiration, perhaps it’s also pity, perhaps envy, and though he listens, he also tells himself it doesn’t matter.

Nagito, perfect for him as always, thought the same but for completely different reasons.

“Matsuda-kun,” Picking at his food, looking out towards the flowers left on his bedside before meeting his gaze, pleading, “Matsuda-kun, you’ll kill me, won’t you?”

He never could say anything when Nagito got like this, even as his fingers tightened harder and harder onto the clipboard until his mind supplied the splintering _crunch_.

His words then are low, steadfast. “Be _quiet_ , Nagito.”

* * *

It was difficult for Nagito sometimes, it was difficult for himself others, it was difficult for the both of them most of the time...

Nagito usually gasped sharply while withering underneath him, especially when he nipped at his throat, at the scars and sometimes even at the stitches, but he’d still cling to him in these times, still chant his name as though he was all that remained. It used to be far more gratifying when they were younger, more naïve—grossly _idealistic_ when he now depressingly knows how the world is.

And yet he’s defying it outright. It’s almost as though he’s the one who’s lost it rather than Nagito, and he’s idiotically glad for that—he’d rather lose himself than lose Nagito—

“Ya... _Yasuke-kun_...!”

“Do you always have to be so loud?” he mutters, gruff but not as annoyed as he would have thought those words would’ve sounded, and he brushes Nagito’s hair back. The white strands are slick with sweat, clinging to the skin, and Nagito looks up at him with those wide eyes before he smiles, and those legs hitched over his hips pull him closer. Murmuring his given name reverently, over and over, cupping his face before those thin limbs loop around his neck, and pulling him into more of those kisses, needier, messier, and more inanely indulgent.

It always goes that way overall—messy, sloppy, ridiculous but still kept in because he thinks he would go insane without this ridiculous relief every now and then. Even if there’s not much of an afterglow afterwards, just Nagito sleeping, curled up in his arms, shivering when he fingers at the new marks and old scars. Instinctively still pressing back against him when he presses a kiss to the other’s crown, sighing out his name again...

Nagito usually awakes before he does—but it’s the white-haired male wiggling out of his grip to go take a shower that he usually wakes to, though his eyes immediately shut afterwards, because in those moments, Nagito is the one brushing his hair back, kissing his temple. He always pulls away quickly, leaves the bedroom swiftly, leaving him to press his fingers to where those thin digits and thinner, softer lips had been, and he sighs heavily at the ceiling.

And when he does get up, dresses himself in however half-assed manner he decides on that day, his lover gives the same cheerful greeting once he’s out of the shower, still drying his hair, beaming up at him with a face flushed from the heat of the spray.

“Good morning, Matsuda-kun!” As always, the switch of the surname is made so seamlessly. Probably because the only time Matsuda had gotten onto him for using it when they’d known each other for so long was during the sex. Nagito had cheerily explained he just felt more comfortable using his family name, _but_ , _if Yasuke-kun wants me to say it during **these** times at least..._

When Matsuda pulls him into a hard kiss, those lips are damp, as is some patches of skin, and though Nagito whines at first, he always melts into his hands quickly enough, moaning out, “ _Yasuke-kun_...”

A deep breath, a gasp as his fingers run down those sides before moving back up to carefully trace his ribs, pressing his palm to them and feeling how the other breathed before his lover laughed in a low voice, dreamily murmuring as he leaned into his touch, “Yasuke-kun, I wouldn’t mind drowning in you...”

“Is that another one of your lame jokes?” He mused, voice just as low, and when he pressed his palm to the other’s cheek, his partner pressing back into his hand, that adoring smile back on his face, those eyes bright and soft as they reflected his dull image back at him. He almost scowled, especially as Nagito just laughed, touching his face in return.

“I’d die happy if Yasuke-kun suffocated me.”

Cold blue eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bait me into doing just that?”

And, of course, Nagito’s returning laugh was brighter, louder, scratchier and uglier, “Is it working?”

He immediately shut the other up with a hard kiss, and kept kissing him until the other was breathless, gasping, and yet even Nagito only ever pulled him closer, urged it with his own lips, and he almost felt light-headed himself, his legs increasingly unsteady and getting dizzier, Nagito’s scent mixed with the fresher smell from the recent shower almost surrounding him like a fog and then...

He managed to steady himself, shoving the other off, and Nagito’s blinking stare was wide-eyed again, but more dazed, and he was pulling him close again with a soft whine.

“Ya...” When he was pushed away again, Matsuda saw how realization dawned in those doe eyes, and Nagito blinked a few times, frowning and tilting his head questioningly. “Matsuda-kun?”

Matsuda peeled those skeletal hands off, sigh heavy and curt, “You really need to get dressed. That’s enough for now.”

Nagito flinched but pulled himself full away, coughing a bit into his hand. He shivered a bit as Matsuda rubbed at his knobby spine, ran his fingers over each bump, but just as Nagito looked at him, he turned away and left, shutting the door behind him without another word.

* * *

He’s read through this text countless times to the point where the brain scans and models are imprinted in his memory. It’s all too easy to look at Nagito’s smiling face and see right through it—past his skull and at the degrading tissue underneath. But it’s always been easy to see _through_ him—he was always too _thin_ , the skeletal structure painfully clear underneath, and there’s not one part he could place his hand on that body and be ignorant to what was thrumming under that pale flesh.

Nagito was his lover, but he was also a patient. In some ways an ongoing research-related experiment. Detaching himself and seeing him as such had become less of a chore and more of an almost thoughtless obligation.

He loved him, of course, and that love never waned over time. He threw himself into the cold clinical work because it was a _necessity_ in treatment. There was a selfishness in it too—a harsh possessiveness in not wanting someone else to _see_ all that underneath.

It was ridiculous, but all the same...

Nagito’s legs sometimes swung during checkups, especially the unprofessional ones where Matsuda would sometimes flick his forehead to get him to still. Nagito still complained about that, even though both of them knew it didn’t hurt. He always giggled afterwards up until Matsuda just as harmlessly pinched his cheek to get him to quiet. Afterwards, he’d ruffle Nagito’s hair, and he blushed so prettily at that touch.

Under the eyes of other nurses and doctors, Nagito was quiet, reserved, reminiscent of that soft, unassuming thing he used to be, and Matsuda brushed off his resentment of the fact easier than he had with everything else.

_“I see the way they look at you, too, Matsuda-kun.”_

He had noticed those stares go both ways. But he could brush those off easy enough as well. Even though it felt like those eyes— ** _Nagito’s_** — _boring on his back, much sharper, more piercing_ — ** _aggravating_** , and yet...

_“Matsuda-kun, don’t you think you’re pushing yourself? Haven’t you been at this for long enough?”_

It’s not like he doesn’t know. He’s always known—there was always that part of him muttering about how hopeless the situation really was, that even if he made a breakthrough, it’d be unrealistic for such to be made in the time frame where it mattered. But that same part knew he couldn’t just let all his efforts slip through his fingers—just let time drift by without bothering to fight the currents.

_“It’s tiring, isn’t it? Why not relax? Why not just let it...?”_

It was gray out again—what little sun was filtering through the clouds was dull, almost lifeless. And yet the clock kept on ticking—there was no way whatsoever to stop that. Those clouds rumbled, and the only thing he could see still was the stiffening of Nagito’s shoulders. Nagito who looked at him, distantly looking out that window—probably seeing through any covering at the dark purples under his eyes, and the dullness of his gaze. The stiffness in his own joints and how he had to pinch his temple, head thrumming, and sigh heavily.

It’s Nagito who snaps him out of it—taking soundless steps towards him, and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind, squeezing gently as he pressed up against him.

“Matsuda-kun...” His whisper nearer, the softness of his breath tickling his ear, “Shouldn’t it be okay to rest now?”

He does yawn and groan, and he lets himself be tugged away, ending up seated on the bed. He’s tired— _so tired_ —but when he clasps his hands together, his fingers are taut, tight, joints popping when they twitch. Nagito worms underneath to lay his head down on his lap, drawing circles in his thigh before he chuckles, ever so lightly.

“I wouldn’t mind it, Matsuda-kun, dying like this.”

He does yelp when Matsuda grips a bit of his hair and pulls, scalp no doubt stinging. It had always been so sensitive. There was no time Nagito shook more than when Matsuda had to shave those wild white curls off. And even after they grew back to as they were now, thick and bushy enough for him to bury his fingers into, that much hadn’t changed. It’s enough that he actually apologizes blankly, and finds his own hand is trembling when he pulls it back.

Then Nagito twists to grab his hand, staring up at him, and pulling his lips into a straight line.

“It’s getting worse, Matsuda-kun, even now.” A clear, cold statement, one that had Nagito staring up at him sternly, squeezing his hand tightly as he went on, “At some point in time, it’ll get to the extent that I won’t be able to comfort or care about you anymore—and wouldn’t that be terrible to go through? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who loved you until the very end?”

His hold now is still tightening. His voice was as well. “Doesn’t the other way sound _despairing_? There’s no way you’d prefer it, not my Matsuda-kun—

“Not when you already know how that _feels_ —how could you ever want to go through that kind of pain again?” Then, almost abruptly, he choked out a laugh, sharp and rueful. “Don’t tell me—you actually _enjoy_ being hurt? Is _that_ why you didn’t leave even when I wanted you to—or perhaps you felt like you had a second chance with what happened with your mother...?”

A hand over his mouth silenced him, Matsuda scowling as Nagito blinked innocently back at him.

“Ma...ph...” Muffled, and his hand pressed harder, muffling it further until he couldn’t even recognized the attempted syllables.

“Do you really think that I don’t ** _know_** any of that?” Matsuda found himself asking, rapidly, almost _hissing_ and glaring straight into that gaze. “Do you _think_ that every single time you open that mouth of yours and you say something that’s tacky, ridiculous or completely careless that I don’t think about how behind that thick skull of yours, your brain is rotting?” He does pause, waiting for whatever stupid remark Nagito would make— _maybe to prove his point_ —he did try to say something...but Matsuda didn’t move his hand. Instead, he answered for himself, “I think about it even when you don’t say a word.”

Then slowly, he removed his hand, used it to pry Nagito’s hand off his other one, and he held that hand close, his grip tight. He’s not sure if he shook, but he did feel Nagito shudder— _but was it in response or was it because_ —

“There are some capabilities that are preserved.” Colder, more clinical, with him staring blankly, unseeingly ahead while he continued. “Your memory—your perception... Unless it spreads, you won’t forget me like _she_ had. If nothing else happens, there shouldn’t be a point where you turn to me and no longer recognize who I am. I won’t lose that...at least.”

“Matsuda-kun,” Nagito touched his face, and he did look down at that worried face, sighing as his frown twisted before he turned to mutely kiss the other’s fingertips. They were always so cold, and he doesn’t have to look at the other to know that smile is falling from his face. That he’s faltering as well. “Matsuda-kun... Can I ask you something though?”

Matsuda found his gaze narrowing, but shut his eyes tightly, responding gruffly, “I won’t pull your hair if I don’t like what I hear. I make no promises on anything else.”

“That’s a rather serious sense of humor...” Nagito laughed though, and he pushed himself up off from lying his head down and instead tugging at his tie. When Matsuda opened his eyes again, they met those cottony greens—in this dull light, they looked starker, grayer. Nagito smiled, cheerily, and he asks, “As my brain deteriorates further—to perhaps the point you realized you’ve already _irreversibly_ lost a lover you used to know so well—what are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer. Nagito simply straightened his collar, humming, “Even if I remember the same things—I won’t be the same anymore. My behavior will change, and so will how I treat you. Perhaps I might treat you cruelly, coldly, to the point where _you’re_ no longer able to _recognize_ me—I might lose what little reason and kindness I have and before I know it, I’ll hurt you without even an ounce of care that you’d expect from someone you cared for since childhood. You might try to keep me close, but I might try to shove you away—not caring, indifferent, and no longer able to share those remnants of what hadn’t been the best of relationships, admittedly, but for the longest time... It _was_ all we had.”

“What...” Matsuda swallowed as the other patted the collar down, and he huffed. “What the hell do you even want me to _say_ to that, Nagito?”

“Hmm... How about what you told me when I told you we should stop being friends?” Suddenly, those arms wrapped around his neck, Nagito straddling him, grinning up at him with bright, bright eyes and from the distance, Matsuda could hear the clouds rumbling. But Nagito’s chipper voice went on, muffling the sounds in his ears, “That I shouldn’t _say_ such things—that no matter what happens, you’ll never leave me _because_ —I’m all you have... But I wonder if that’s true anymore...”

“Incorrigible...” he found himself muttering only that. “You’re already incorrigible...”

Nagito giggled, and then went to bury his face in Matsuda’s neck, sigh cool against his skin. “You’re letting me down, Matsuda-kun. That’s so cruel to your lover, don’t you think? But all the same... You’ll be there, won’t you? No matter what happens, I’ll be your—”

“Nagito.”

He nodded at that, tittering, trembling, and going on and on that—“I’ll _always_ be yours, even if I lose myself. As long as my heart’s beating, I’ll be... _yours_ , right? Maybe something more cliché—more naïve—like uselessly promising like you had earlier that you won’t _lose me_ , it won’t get to **_that_** point, _just have **hope** , Nagito, come on, I know you never shut up about that stupid, idiotic concept that **doesn’t even exist** so why can’t you just **believe in**_ —”

Matsuda brought his arms around the other, holding him tight. Nagito’s shaking had gotten worse while chattering, but he stilled now—tried to, at least, as a few tremors remained.

“Matsuda...Yasuke-kun...” Barely managed, weak and wavering at first before spilling over carelessly. “I love you.”

He repeated it a few times— _I love you, I **love** you_ —desperate and almost reverent until he was kissed quiet, and when Matsuda pulled back, wiping at the curve of his cheek, he saw that those soft gray-green eyes gazing up at him were dry. But he could hear the plops of rain against glass, and he only breathed out the other’s name before pulling Nagito into another kiss with that ridiculous, _stupid_ **_hope_** that it’d be enough to suffocate them both.


End file.
